Camp Christ Our Savior
by daflippnay
Summary: Buffy and Spike are sent to a Christian Summer Camp by their parents for entirely different reasons, but their lack of faith brings them together.
1. This Isn't Such A Good Idea

A/N: I am an Atheist who wants nothing to do with religion. You will see my views very often throughout this fic, and if you are uncomfortable with it, I suggest you refrain from reading. Don't complain to me. Your faith is your own. If it's not strong enough that I'm able to shake and upset you, that is not my problem.

* * *

Buffy Summers sighed, tears building behind her eyes as she played with the hem of her sun dress. She was stuck in the middle of nowhere - a Christian Summer Camp, to be exact - when she could be spending her summer vacation hanging out with her friends. Instead, her parents had taken the time to notice that she'd been skipping out on Sunday masses to bake with one of her best friends, Willow. She'd been getting really good, and it was always fun to have someone to trade baking formulas with. The Sunday before her parents had sent her off, she'd learned how to make a proof box by putting the slow-rising dough in a slightly heated oven, thus accelerating the rising process. It was challenging trying to keep the temperature in check, but the overall outcome had been fantastic.

It had been three days since her arrival and she hated it already. Her father, Hank, was a minister at their local church and knew a couple counselors in Camp Christ Our Savior. They'd made it known that she was under constant surveillance, and just the fact that her father was a minister had them thinking that she above everyone else would enjoy participating in bible readings and the 'fun' activities that accompanied it.

And she'd made it known, very vehemently in fact, that she would rather clean the toilets than read anything from the gospel.

And that was what she was doing now - or at least what she should be doing. The counselor, Harmony Kendall, had not been very amused by Buffy's attitude and so she sent her to the lavatories.

"For spiritual guidance," she'd said snootily, tossing her blonde hair behind her shoulder. "Maybe you'll find the Lord in one of the toilet bowls and finally accept him as your Lord and savior. Flush away your fears and doubts!"

Buffy sat with the pair of rubber gloves Harmony'd given her resting across her knees, her cheek in her hand and her chin quivering. She honestly didn't give a care about religion, and she didn't understand why her parents felt the need to push it on her. She didn't find spiritual comfort or guidance in going to church and sitting and standing and making her knees hurt from chafing them on the harsh, carpeted kneelers.

And she had a feeling that she wouldn't be finding spiritual comfort or guidance in a toilet bowl either.

Buffy snorted in derision as tears made their way down her cheeks.

She suddenly looked up at the sound of the thumbwheel on a lighter. Above her, a platinum blond man with crystal blue eyes hovered. He took a pull of a long black cigarette, and Buffy watched as the ember grew brighter.

"Why the tears?" he asked on exhale, smoke escaping from his mouth and nostrils. Buffy noticed his British accent.

Buffy snorted and eyed the pair of rubber gloves, clenching her fists angrily. "One of the counselors told me I might find Jesus in a toilet stall. What a waste of a perfectly good summer."

The young man smiled, tossing his cigarette and sitting down beside her. "I think I like you already."

Buffy smiled, then sniffed the air. She stared at his cigarette, lying forgotten on the dirt floor. "Those are Cloves, aren't they? My dad smokes them on occasion. Must have a lot of cash to blow if you toss them away like that."

He smiled. "It's not mine, anyway. I stole it from one of the ministers when he wasn't looking."

She laughed. "You don't think sins are doubled around here, do you?"

"What, you mean like driving above the designated speed limit in a construction zone?" he chortled. "What's your name?"

"Buffy. And yours?"

"Spike."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I won't say anything about your name if you don't say anything 'bout mine."

Buffy smiled, suddenly feeling shy in the presence of this handsome young man. "Deal."

He raised his rear off the cement to dig into his pocket, producing a ratty pile of cards. He raised his eyebrows invitingly.

She giggled. "Sure."

"Does it say anything about gambling in the Bible?" he asked mockingly.

Buffy reached into the pocket of her thin hoodie, taking out a bag of Skittles. "Dunno. Wanna use these as chips?"

He nodded, watching as she spilled some of the candies out between them. "So what's your story?"

"It's a bit weird, actually. I want to pursue baking and I used to skip Sunday masses to go to my friend's house to bake. We did it every Sunday. My parents found out and thought my baking hobby was distracting me from praising God."

Spike giggled. "Baking? That's a hoot."

She popped a green Skittle into her mouth. "What about you?"

"I've been here for three straight summers." When Buffy's jaw dropped, he nodded and winced. "I guess it's about the same. Parents always pushing religion on me. Was into a lot of Skinhead bands, so that automatically caused some alarm. But you see, not _all _Skinheads are racist. Actually, some of 'em are downright hippies. And that's the kind of stuff that I was into, but m'parents twisted it round, read too much into things."

"Wow," Buffy said quietly. "Three consecutive summers? That kinda sucks."

Spike laughed dryly. "Tell me about it."

"I think that task is yours alone," she giggled, accepting the cards he dealt her. She looked up at him in wonder. "Why haven't you done something about it, though? I mean, you look like you're a bit older than me… Couldn't you have gotten a job? Moved out?"

"I'm twenty. And I guess this is my own masochistic way of trying to show my parents that I love them," he said, scratching at the back of his neck, his embarrassment plain. "I've rebelled in so many other ways when I was younger. I think they're trying to put me in line by doing this, and honestly, I think it's funny. They're wastin' so much money on me, tryin' to make me believe in some higher being."

Buffy pursed her lips. "I'm seventeen. My mom was against me going, but my dad is the man of the house." She rolled her eyes. "And he's also one of the ministers of the local parish. He expected better from his daughter, I guess."

Spike nudged her with his shoulder, giving her a soft smile that made killer butterflies gnaw at her stomach and a blush form on her cheeks. "You know, I'm pretty close with the cook around here. Maybe we could get him to lend you the kitchen one of these days."

Buffy grinned widely. "Really?"

He nudged her again, smirking. "Yeah. Why the hell not?"

"That'd be great," she said excitedly, bouncing in her spot on the cement stairs. "It's really boring out here."

"Yeah, it is." He leered at her. "Wanna make out?"

Buffy felt her face grow hot as her blush deepened. "Um--"

He shot her a lethal grin, then took her hand and got up, dragging her to places unknown. "Come with me."

"Spike, I don't think this is such a good idea," Buffy whispered as they tiptoed to the staff's lounge in the main building.

He grinned at her. "Which is exactly why it's such a _great _idea," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her. He tried the knob before pushing the door open, finding the lounge to be empty. It was bible study hour and all staff aside from the secretary was in the chapel, overseeing their sheep. "You learn a couple things when you stay here three summers in a row."

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "And what's that?" she whispered.

Spike grinned as he opened the mini fridge. "Father Snyder really likes his blueberry pie."

Buffy's eyes widened at the five boxes of blueberry pie stacked and cramped into the fairly large mini fridge. Spike took a box and dragged her outside again, this time near the lake where recreational activities were held every afternoon after lunch.

"We don't have eating utensils," Buffy said, frowning.

"We've got hands, don't we?" Spike chuckled. He pointed to the lake. "And the lake's a public washroom if I ever saw one."

Buffy watched as Spike opened the box and dug his hand into the pie and unceremoniously shoved the handful of graham cracker crust and blueberry currant in his mouth. She grinned and followed suit.


	2. Good Times, Bad Times

Buffy returned to her cabin after she was sure she'd gotten the last of the blueberry off her face only to be faced off with Harmony standing in the threshold.

"Elizabeth Anne Summers, where have you been all day?" she demanded.

"Cleaning the toilet stalls," she said in her most innocent tone, making her eyes go wide. "I didn't find Jesus, but I did find your dignity. So that's where it went." She grinned a little and pushed past a bewildered Harmony.

"I'm telling on you!" Harmony exclaimed, high-tailing it.

Buffy moaned on her way to her very uncomfortable bed, wincing as the springs dug into her rear when she sat down. She hadn't been able to sleep much during her stay here. Her bedmate on the top bunk tossed and turned during lights out and all she could hear were the metal bed springs groaning under her weight. Buffy felt sorry for her, though - the girl couldn't have been sleeping all that well, either.

She was getting ready for a much needed shower when the front door swung open and a disembodied voice greeted her before its person did.

"Elizabeth Anne Summers, I need to see you in my office," Father Snyder said authoritatively, crooking a finger at her.

She sighed. "I can't take my shower first?"

He came closer and sneered, his nostrils flared. "You smell like blueberries," he said accusingly. "And that means no."

He turned around and Buffy cringed behind his back, following him out of the house. Harmony was waiting on the porch, a pleased smile on her lips.

"God bless you, Summers," Harmony said with false cheer and a little wave, stepping into the cabin.

"Only one person knows of my blueberry pie, Elizabeth Summers, and I fear that you are guilty by association. I am going to be keeping a close eye on you. Your father is a very good friend of mine and I will not have him waste his money on someone as _blind _as you are." Father Snyder rounded his desk and sat behind it, folding his hands on the tabletop.

"Father Snyder, I didn't even _want_ to come here - "

"I am aware of this, Buffy, but you know that your parents only want the best for you. That is why I have no choice but to place you in isolation and give you the best religious education that is available here."

Buffy's jaw hung open in shock. "Isolation?" she whimpered, her voice cracking. "Father, can't I just go home? You can refund my dad's money and everything will be alright--"

"I'm afraid I can't, Miss Summers. The fee to attend this camp is non-refundable and it has been your father's wish that we show you just what God has to offer you." He held out a blue Post-It note to her. "And if you act up again, Miss Summers, you will not like your punishment," he said menacingly.

Buffy took the Post-It from him. On it was written _Mulcahy Hall 202_, which she suspected was her designated classroom.

"You've got much to learn, Miss Summers, and it's all going to start here," Father Snyder said, unlocking a bottom drawer on his desk and producing a decanter half-filled with an unidentifiable alcoholic drink. "Now go to evening mass."

Buffy sighed as she left his office, walking straight into a leather-clad body on her way out of the building.

"Got you in trouble, did I?" Spike asked, righting her as she wobbled. She could see the concern written all over his face.

"He said it could have been worse," she said with a shrug. "I hate it here."

He nodded. "Yeah, me too." He nudged her gently. "What's that, then?"

Buffy held up the Post-It. "This?" He nodded. "I'm being put in isolation, whatever that means. You think they have an Iron maiden in there?" She was surprised by his laughter.

"Isolation's not so bad," he said, a twinkle in his eye.

"Why's that?" she asked, the space between her brows crinkled in confusion.

"'Cause I'm in there," he said, nudging her again and winking.

Buffy laughed, surprised. "So isolation isn't really… isolation?"

"Oh, no, it is." Spike said. "Think of it as sped."

She raised her eyebrows. "And you're the only one there?"

"There's this kid named Oz, and then there's me."

"And the teacher?"

"They change the teacher every year. But the one who teaches this year is right nice. He's from the mother country and his name is Rupert. He's Jewish."

"A Jew in a Christian summer camp?" she giggled. "Is this why I never see you at any of the activities?"

"Yep, that's probably why. We do have to attend evening masses though, so…" Spike held out his arm. "Care to be my date?"

She giggled and took his arm. "I'd be delighted."

He leaned closer and pointed at a spot at the front of her dress. "Got a little bit of blueberry there, luv."

"Darn!" Buffy muttered, scowling at it.

He laughed when she pouted. "Care for dinner in the mess after? I could introduce you to the cook."

She brightened considerably. "I'd like that a lot."

"Me too," he said, grinning. It widened when she blushed. "Come on, luv. I actually like going to masses. It kind of reminds me of tech support."

"Tech support?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah, you know, people all asking for help at the same time only to be put on hold? At least on-hold music is a lot less archaic than the ones at mass."

Buffy's sweet laughter filled the summer night air, and Spike couldn't help but smile.

-

"Buffy, I'd like to introduce you to Miss Calendar. Miss Calendar, this is one of our newbies," Spike said.

"Hi," Buffy said shyly, shaking the woman's offered hand.

"Hello, Buffy. Nice to meet you. You can call me Jenny," the middle aged woman said.

Spike smirked. "She's Pagan."

"Lots of interesting staff at this camp," Buffy remarked, giggling.

"You could say that," Jenny said with a smile, lowering the heat on one of the pots on the stove.

"Buffy's an amateur baker," Spike said.

"Really now?" Jenny said, sounding interested. "I'm actually a Chef, but they call me the cook around here." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "It kind of irks me. I went on an internship in Wales once and it surprised me because the culinary students and chefs there had to specialize in both cooking and baking. You've looked into any culinary schools yet?"

"Not yet," Buffy admitted. "My parents aren't exactly supportive. But I do a lot of baking at my friend's house. Last week I taught myself how to proof bread dough in an oven."

Jenny grinned. "How did that turn out?"

"Great!" Buffy gushed. "I thought I'd muck it up because it takes a lot of temperature control in the oven, but I did a lot of studying before doing it and I bought an oven thermometer. I made a roll with caraway seeds and another with carrots and rosemary. They smelled so good, and tasted even better! My friend made an English breakfast for her whole family and I served the rolls alongside her dish."

The woman raised her eyebrows. "You sure you're not in culinary school already?"

She laughed. "No, but I'd love to go."

"You know, I have a catering business. It's actually my mom's, but we run it together when I'm not being a 'cook' here during the summer. We could teach you a couple of things."

Buffy's eyes widened. "I would _love _that!"

"I'll talk to you more about it at another time, gotta watch the pasta sauce." She wrinkled her nose again. "From a _can_," she sighed as she turned back to the stove, displeased.

"I think I love her," Buffy said dreamily as Spike ushered her into the cafeteria.

Spike grinned. "I think she loves you, too."

They ate their pasta, and left before the counselors herded everyone back to their cabins. They went to the lake again, sitting on the grass.

"I won't be able to shower until the morning," Buffy said, wrinkling her nose.

"Bet you're glad that you don't smell of anything else but blueberries," he chuckled, reaching in between them and covering her hand.

Buffy felt her heart beat faster in her chest as his hand closed around hers. She looked at him in awe, glad that it was too dark for him to see her blush.

"Like you a lot, Buffy," he leaned in and said huskily.

"You do?" she whispered breathlessly, looking down at their hands and then at his lips.

"Think I would've gone crazy if I hadn't met you," he murmured. "Third time's the charm and all that."

"Think it would've taken me less than three times over here to drive me completely insane," she joked weakly. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

"Buffy?"

"Hmm?" she answered, dreamily.

He chuckled and leaned in further, their lips a hairsbreadth away from each other. "Gonna kiss you."

"Please do," she squeaked without thinking, and then lowered her head to cover her blush, which had deepened considerably.

Spike was faster, ducking his head to catch her lips with his own.

Buffy found herself scooching closer, her hands becoming tangled in his gelled hair. She giggled and pulled her face away. "I think my hands are stuck," she teased.

He growled and moved in to kiss her again. "Are not! I don't put that much bloody gel," he murmured against her lips.

"Mmmm," Buffy sighed happily as he slanted his lips against hers, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot straight down between her legs as he darted his tongue into her mouth when she opened to gasp for air.

She didn't remember how she got into his lap, nor was she too concerned about it as his mouth left her lips and started planting wet kisses down her neck. She moaned as he sucked at a spot of skin, embracing him tighter and bearing her rear down in lazy circles into his lap.

"Cor, luv," Spike hissed, pulling away from her neck.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" she squeaked, loosening her hold around his neck to pull away and gaze at him.

"Not at all," he chuckled, leaning in to give her an Eskimo kiss. "Though I think I should walk you to your cabin before we do something unholy."

She kissed his cheek and climbed off his lap. "Five more minutes?"

"That, we can do," he said with a smile, pulling her closer so that she was cuddled into his side.

They watched the lake's still waters, the waxing gibbous moon's reflection bouncing off its surface. Buff tucked her head under Spike's chin. He placed an arm around her and turned his head to breathe in the scent of her hair. The trace scent of blueberries and sunshine were still there.


End file.
